


Solo Stage

by butterflyweb



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: M/M, Stripper!AU, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyweb/pseuds/butterflyweb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Daesung experiences a rite of passage and Taeyang gives one hell of a performance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solo Stage

He isn’t one of those creepy guys. Really. He _isn’t_.  
  
Every normal, walking, talking, red-blooded _male_ goes into a strip club at least once in his life, right? That definitely has to be written somewhere, next to every man has experienced a wet dream and an ill-timed erection. Part of life, rite of passage, all of that good stuff.  
  
So when he passes the Flagpole for the fifth time in five days, there’s nothing to say that he’s some kind of pervert when he doubles back and slips inside the windowless building.  
  
Daesung avoids the bouncer’s eyes, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans and forcing himself to not think about what men were touching before they touched the door as he pushes it open and lets himself into the main room of the club. The smell of smoke and cheap beer immediately makes his stomach turn, though that might just be nerves, but he forces himself to keep walking and eventually drags his eyes up from the threadbare carpet.  
  
It’s a lot like it is on TV, is his first thought. Chairs and tables crowded around a single stage, benches right at the edge. All the better to pass off bills and toy with the dangerous line of flirty and grabby. The men, comes his second, are worse. There’s hardly anyone his age (they get their rocks off with REAL bed-mates, he reminds himself sourly) and most of them are eying the stage like hungry dogs tied to a stake.  
  
This was such a bad idea.  
  
Daesung slinks to the bar, thankful at least that he remembered his ID, not that the bartender seems the least bit interested in anything but his cash. He orders a beer off tap and clutches it like a lifeline, looking anywhere but the stage. Really, he should just go. A few dollars wasted on a beer--hell, he’d lost more in the washing machine when he didn’t clean out his pockets. As for pride, well, it isn’t like he had a hell of a lot of that in the first place.  
  
He’s just managing to rally enough to get off the stool, head for the exit and sunlight, like it could strip every last remnant of this seedy-ass place off him, when the lights go even dimmer, and a spotlight goes to the stage. Catcalls start, half slurs and half comments that make Daesung go red and squirm in his seat, but the music kicks up a notch until it’s all but drowning them out.  
  
The heavy back-beat makes Daesung’s head pound, and that’s the only reason he moves to a seat on the floor, just to get away from the sub-woofers hanging on the walls, that’s all. He sinks into his chair like he’s trying to disappear, the music cutting as a bored tone drawls over the speakers.  
  
“For your viewing pleasure, the Flagpole presents.....Taeyang!”  
  
What an arrogant-ass name, is Daesung’s first thought. His second never comes, his mind’s focus going considerably lower when the dancer slinks out on stage, all skin-tight wifebeater and tan skin and oh. _Oh._  
  
He’s finding it suddenly hard to swallow, and maybe a little hard to breathe, and in desperation, he takes a gulp of cheap booze and hopes he doesn’t choke. If he went into a coughing fit and suddenly became the most pathetic guy in a _strip joint_ , he pretty much have to go off into a corner and die.  
  
On stage, the dancer ignores the men who try to grab at his ankles, standing with his back against the pole as he runs a hand down the expanse of his torso to grab himself roughly through his white jeans. Daesung is instantly, immediately hard. The dancer’s hips roll into his touch, as if he’s just getting himself off and a handful of men just happen to be watching and okay, Daesung is a pervert. A really huge, nasty, total pervert, because he finds himself wishing that’s the case. Can they do that? Could he just jack himself off right on stage?  
  
The dancer slides slowly down, a hand above his head, wrapped around the pole, until he’s sinking into a crouch, then pushing his hips forward until he’s on his knees. The movement is fluid, almost graceful, nothing like the Internet videos he’s seen with men in sparkly G-strings bouncing their junk all over the place to the Weather Girls.  
  
Taeyang crawls forward, until he’s nearly at the edge of the stage, before he sits back on his heels. Starts to peel the wifebeater up until his stomach is showing, rolling his hips in one single delicious movement as bills start to hit the stage floor. Daesung presses the drink in his hand to his cheek, presses his other hand between his legs, and bites down on a pathetic little noise. God. It’s nothing more than he’s seen at the gym, in the locker rooms, maybe even less, but it doesn’t matter. It’s sex in raw form and oh, oh look, he’s taking his shirt off. Daesung swallows thickly.  
  
The wifebeater hits the stange silently, Taeyang getting smoothly to his feet in the next moment and it makes something in Daesung tingle to realize he’s barefoot. Something about the vulnerability it displays gets his shorts tighter, as if the other man undressing is something _real_ now, not just body parts and bad lighting.  
  
A hand meets the pole, every muscle flexing at the touch, Taeyang doing a slow walk around it to show off, and Daesung’s mentally calculating the distance between his chair and the free spot on the benches. He can’t move, can he? Not now that it’s started. Everyone will see him. Taeyang rolls his hips against the pole, as if he’s fucking against it, and Daesung’s nearly out of his seat right then and there.  
  
His cock is rock hard in his jeans, but Daesung refuses to touch himself in public. It doesn’t matter if no one’s looking, it’s...it’s the _principle_ of the thing. He’ll wait. He can wait. He’ll go into the bathroom after and tug one out and no one will be the wiser.  
  
Taeyang’s hands start on his belt.  
  
Daesung wets his lips. Closes his eyes tight. Opens them again. The belt is off, stretched tight over Taeyang’s head as he thrust his hips to the music, showing off every line and every inch of taught muscle. For a long minute, even as he’s watching the man click down the length of his zipper, even as he sees the outline of his cock against tight black briefs...Daesung almost doesn’t believe he’s _really_ going to get to see him naked. He’ll probably just go down to his briefs. Right? The sign on the door had said live nudity, but...but in the movies they never...  
  
His jeans are off.  
  
Daesung’s eyes roam over tanned thighs covered in sparse, dark hairs, down to his calves and those bare feet...then up again until he’s looking at him in all his glory, moving his body in fluid lines, his eyes closed as if the show he’s putting on is just for him. Daesung isn’t sure he can take any more of this without messing his pants. He bites down hard on the edge of his palm, breaths coming a little too fast.  
  
He can’t help but fantasize about what it would be like to touch him. His skin would be smooth. Soft, Daesung thinks. He’d taste like that coconut tanning oil they use at the places on campus. Like the beach. Maybe that’s why he chose the name, Daesung muses, hand dropping to rub himself almost unconsciously through thick denim. Yeah. He’d be on his back, rolling those sinful hips up again and again, Daesung riding him through each bucking thrust...  
  
Taeyang hooks his thumbs in those tiny black briefs, dragging them down his thighs as he rocks his hips forward into the movement, and--  
  
Daesung comes in his shorts.  
  
He makes a horrified little noise that’s somewhere between the edge of a moan and a squeak, mortified, hand pressed over his mouth even as he still shudders because _what the fuck_. He hasn’t done that since he was _thirteen_ and fuck, he feels like a massive neon sign has been installed just overhead, announcing to Taeyang, the universe and everyone that the sicko in the back just jizzed himself at the sight of another man’s cock.  
  
Daesung swallows hard. Taeyang really did have a gorgeous cock.  
  
He shifts awkwardly in his chair, watching wide-eyed through the rest of the show as the music comes to an end and Taeyang gathers up his clothing and the remaining cash, walking off stage to the sound of lude suggestions and outright propositions. Daesung feels like a total skeeve.  
  
Abandoning his beer, he darts off to the men’s room (and fuck is he so going to be washing his hands for a half hour when he gets home) and cleans up as best as he can, his hands still shaking. Pervert. Pervert, pervert, pervert. What is wrong with him? Why did he come in here, what the hell was wrong with him?  
  
Daesung scrubs at his hands, looking up to stare his skeevy, creeper self in the eyes when a flyer catches his attention instead.  
  


! FLAGPOLE SPECIAL ATTRACTION !

VI-VICTORY: ONE NIGHT ONLY

CUM FOR AN EYEFUL, STAY FOR A LAPFUL

FRIDAY THE 17TH !!!!

  
Swallowing hard, Daesung darts his eyes to the door before snatching the flyer off the wall, folding it up and stuffing it in his pocket, then making a beeline for the door and the outside world.  
  
He’s so going to hell.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/bigbang_fanfic/846175.html#cutid1).


End file.
